


Nothing Between Them but Tea and a Wall

by Synergic



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synergic/pseuds/Synergic
Summary: Monty takes tea. Sibella and Phoebe take . . . anything they want, really.
Relationships: Phoebe D'Ysquith/Sibella Hallward/Monty Navarro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Nothing Between Them but Tea and a Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmilla/gifts).



The tea was poured while still scalding. The conversation to date has been hardly less heated, at least from the perspective of one Montague D’Ysquith Navarro, who sits with his fingers cupped around uncomfortably warm porcelain watching his wife and his lover go at it hammer and sugar-tongs. 

If he had any doubt Phoebe was fully apprised of his relationship with Sibella somewhere between his arrest and his miraculous (given the givens, known only to him) acquittal, they disappeared as soon as the less than genial beverage had been served. Usually a sparkling hostess, she's deliberately turned down the charm, complimenting her guest’s dress only twice and offering no cream or sugar. 

Unfortunately for the lady of the house Sibella is a puzzle-box of a woman, a contrarian who _prefers_ her tea black, ideally with a refreshing twist of lemon. She sets down her cup looking nothing less than invigorated and fully ready to begin a brawl. 

“I usually see Monty on Tuesdays,” she begins without preamble. 

Monty glances at his wife, wondering if he ought to appear guilt stricken. But Phoebe is still calmly pulling cucumbers off a tiny triangle of toast. Apparently everyone else knew that this was to be a bargaining table, not a social call, with Monty on a platter in place of the trifle. 

“I can spare him,” she concedes, “It will give me time to plan our dinner menus-- we host so many peers now, you know. They find us thrilling.” Rubbing their place in society in Sibella’s face is a bold move. Perhaps this is less of a tactical retreat than Monty imagined. “But only for two hours.”

Sibella’s brows are perfect angel wings, poised for flight. “Two? Poor Monty, your wife thinks so highly of you!” 

A remark that clearly was not meant for him, though Phoebe doesn’t acknowledge it straight away. She’s moved on to scraping the butter off her bread. It would not dare to melt. Monty feels a bit of pride. She would have made a lovely widow, so self-contained and stiff of upper lip, though he’s consummately glad she isn’t one. “Don’t you?” She ripostes. “You went to enough trouble to get him back.”

Sibella says nothing, which is extremely telling. Phoebe licks the butter knife, appallingly casual when she should be on company manners, and continues.

“One hour, then. If that’s how you prefer it.”

“Oh, I’ll take two.” Sibella’s answer is gratifyingly quick. “I only meant to say that Monty knows when I’m done with him.” 

That might have been insulting if not for the decidedly sultry glint in her eye, one that somehow evokes the exact feeling of a silk slipper treading on a willing hand. Although now he comes to think of it, her look seems to be rather more forcefully directed _across_ the table than catty-cornered to catch her paramour. Perhaps Monty ought to take to tonguing something as well.

Sibella confirms this thought as her eyes rove over Countess D’Ysquith Navarro, trending decidedly downwards. “Not like being with you, I imagine. One would have to be careful with a figure like yours. A gentleman could lose himself forever in those curves.”

Phoebe goes quite pink and sharp, rosy in every way. “Well if it comes to that I’m sure you’d be there to fish him out again. With your _teeth_.”

Monty cannot help but to think that these really are the most complimentary insults he’s ever heard. Then there’s a rapid rise and fall to his wife’s shirtfront that speaks to a type of passion that he’s become intimately acquainted with since their courtship began to whirl. Unexpected, that.

Phoebe, who has continued to blush, nevertheless takes the bull by the horns. “You know, I think perhaps I had better be there after all. To supervise Monty.”

Sibella reaches across the table and, in front of Monty’s astonished eyes, pats his wife’s hand. “Yes,” she agrees with a smirk that lingers after the words are spoken. “Perhaps you had.”

"Monty," Phoebe says, eyes still on Mrs. Holland, "I do believe I've forgotten the sugar bowl."

Monty retrieves it most willingly.


End file.
